


Close To You

by araliya



Series: The Siken Diaries [8]
Category: Glee RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-07
Updated: 2018-04-07
Packaged: 2019-04-19 22:08:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14246748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/araliya/pseuds/araliya
Summary: It's a New York love story.





	Close To You

**Author's Note:**

> Close To You - The Carpenters
> 
> Warning for minor recreational drug use.

_ He had green eyes, _ __  
_ so I wanted to sleep with him— _ __  
_ green eyes flecked with yellow, dried leaves on the surface of a pool- _ __  
_ You could drown in those eyes, I said. _ __  
_ The fact of his pulse, _ __  
_ the way he pulled his body in, out of shyness or shame or a desire _ __  
_ not to disturb the air around him. _ __  
_ Everyone could see the way his muscles worked, _ __  
_ the way we look like animals, _ __  
_ his skin barely keeping him inside. _ __  
_ I wanted to take him home _ __  
_ and rough him up and get my hands inside him, drive my body into his _ __  
_ like a crash test car. _ __  
_ I wanted to be wanted and he was _ __  
_ very beautiful, kissed with his eyes closed, and only felt good while moving. _ __  
_ You could drown in those eyes, I said, _ __  
_ so it’s summer, so it’s suicide, _ __  
_ so we’re helpless in sleep and struggling at the bottom of the pool. _ __  


_\- Richard Siken_

There is a boy at the subway. **  
**

 

He has eyes that flicker green or gold depending on the amount of clouds in the sky, and sings at the top of the steps where the station opens out into the streets.

 

You see him there every Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday, as you shoulder your backpack as you walk past, feet tripping over in haste to not let him see your hands shake.

 

Then, as you turn the corner, not even steps away, you lean against the dilapidated brick wall and listen to him sing. Tonight it’s a song about a boy without a car. You listen to him and you forget that your calves are aching and your eyes are burning underneath your glasses.

 

You listen to him and you forget that today is Thursday, and you won’t see him for another 120 hours.

 

***

 

One day, it starts to rain just as you climb the steps. The water falls as hard as if it has already been pouring for hours, congealing the grime on the New York streets and dampening your clothes.

 

The boy has stopped playing abruptly, something about blue lips and scars, and is hurriedly trying to pack his guitar away from the rain.

 

You clench your fists, look up to the heavens, and then stride over to him, helping him pour the coins from the guitar bag into a little tub that the boy hands you, watching as he zips up the instrument with rain-slick fingers.

 

It is only once the boy gives him a grateful  _thank you_  that you realise that your hair is a waterlogged mess, falling into your eyes like seaweed atop a rock, and you flush crimson.

 

He doesn’t seem to notice, only grins delightedly and gives you his name. You give him yours, and try not to stare at the raindrops on his lips.

 

***

 

You find out that you live barely an apartment block from each other.

 

Darren- that’s his name- invites you over to his place: a crowded three-bedroom filled with sheet music, empty beer cans and rabbit food. You ask him why and Darren grins and tells you that one of his roommates has a baby bunny named Eve.

 

With Eve in your lap and Darren on the other side of the couch, you watch the wet dollar bills on the carpet dry.

 

It’s the strangest thing you’ve ever done.

 

***

 

The next time you see Darren, it’s a Tuesday, and he’s finishing off a song about bright blue eyes. Darren winks at you and tells you to wait a moment, before packing up his things and pulling his beanie down around his ears.

 

You end up on his fire escape, passing a joint between the two of you. The smoke curls in tendrils out of his parted lips as he tells you about the music and the family and the love and his brother Chuck’s band that  _you should really check out, man- they’re fuckin’ awesome._

 

The world is slightly tilted on its axis, and as he puts a hand on the small of your back to help you climb through the window into the living room, you realise:

 

You’re falling in love with a prep school boy who wears the dinosaur shirts he bought at sixteen when he has thousand dollar suits in his closet, and busks on the side of the road because he likes knowing that with every melody, he’s bringing a little more joy into a cold, grey world.

 

***

 

He’s dancing his fingers across your bare chest, and you tell him about the writing.

 

Darren listens when you tell him why, and laughs when you tell him what, and holds when you tell him  _I’m scared, oh god I’m so scared._

 

He’s there when you open the email from the publisher and he’s there when you sign on the dotted line, and he’s there when every single word is laid out and printed on the living room floor,  _finished_.

 

***

 

There’s a moment in time when things get bad.

 

Darren calls you from the west coast to tell you that he’s been booked for a gig. You don’t even know that he’d auditioned.

 

You cry for the first time, hot and hard down the phone, and you can tell something’s slowly shattering within you. It feels like someone’s twisting a nerve in your torso until the muscles in your legs don’t work anymore and you’re falling to your knees.

 

Darren flies back, and you think you should probably  _try_  to do something, to make him hurt as much as you do, but when he stumbles into the apartment, shaking like a leaf, you know there’s not much you could do to make him feel any worse.

 

You’ve got a year left at NYU and he’s got a seventy grand contract in LA and the two of you are split down the middle like there’s already 2789 miles between you, and you haven’t even taken a step apart yet.

 

***

 

There are yellow days and there are black days. Today is a black day.

 

You sit restlessly on the uncomfortable train seat, twisting a chain around your neck. On it is a ring given to you by a beautiful boy with eyes like topaz and a voice like silk.

 

There’s an itch at the base of your spine like you need to get up- you need to do  _something_ \- you just don’t know what. The final shudder as the train doors slide open is a sound of sweet relief, and you jump up from the seat as if you’ve been burned.

 

Music floats from up the stairwell, and it’s such a commonplace sound that you don’t even question it- not until the rush of commuters fizzles out and the train heaves out of the station.

 

It’s a song about birds and stars and sprinkled moondust and it’s backed up by carefully strummed guitar strings.

 

The voice carrying it is soft and sweet and sounds like home.

 

 _Darren_.

 

Your lips form the name but you don’t utter a sound, and when he looks up as you step out onto the street, you know why he’s here.

 

Darren sets down his guitar and walks over to you slowly. He unclasps the chain from around your neck, slides off the ring, and looks at you carefully.

 

 _Are you ready_ , he asks softly, _because I am, Chris, I am so, so ready._

 

You can barely manage a nod, what with the way your eyes are burning and your heart is thudding so loudly that to speak would be futile, but you do, you manage it.

 

You let him slide the ring onto your finger- you don’t need to look down to know which one, and he leads you back to the guitar case. You help him pack it up, let him take your hand, and wordlessly allow him to take you home.

 

It has been a year, and you are ready.

 

***

 

Songs in order of appearance: [X](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B_nSFOpiuK8) [X](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oVslvM30EWI) [X](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HGH-4jQZRcc) [X](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iFx-5PGLgb4)


End file.
